


Love Eternal

by black_hat_with_bells



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: F/M, dark story, horror story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-17
Updated: 2011-04-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 06:56:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/black_hat_with_bells/pseuds/black_hat_with_bells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How can you make love stay?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Eternal

**Author's Note:**

> story inspired by Halloween prompt: “You are a wise man, professor, for someone who has not yet lived a single lifetime"-Dracula.  
> (prompt from sci_fi muses community!)

Professor Douglas Morely noticed her from day one.

She was sitting in the front row by herself, her legs crossed demurely and her eyes downcast. As if she was hoping no one would notice her existence.

Low self-esteem, he judged, having seen it before in other students. Only she was very different from his regular lot of students. Contrasted to the yowling group already, she had a certain maturity that set her apart. An old soul, rather, in a young body.

She had an air of otherworldliness that he thought was charming, and he made it his goal to know her name.

“Okay, guys. People. PEOPLE!” he yelled, clapping his hands for order. “I hope you like your seats because that’s where you will sit for the rest of the year. Pass this chart around and fill it out with your names. I want to get to know each and every one of you.”

This was the first year he had ever done this, and he congratulated himself on his cleverness.

Claire Livingstone.

Claire.

How wholesome, he thought with a smirk. He would have fun looking at her, memorizing the curves of her body for later hours. Take a bit of the innocence that girl-women have. Perhaps have opportunities to look down her shirt as well. It would be as far as it went.

That was always the way.

***

Somewhere along the way, Miss Livingstone had noticed his attention.

He would catch her watching him. She would nibble on her pen, smiling slightly. Innocent girls always behaved that way in the face of lust. It’s a primal force that scared them and so they would try and disarm it with a defensive smile.

Or flirt back, imagining they could gain control of something quite beyond them. Their dainty hands trying to hold back a hurricane...it amused him.

It was a game they played, and it was harmless. There was nothing wrong for being happy that a young girl could still find him attractive.

He didn’t expect her to knock on the door of his office. He froze when he saw her there, wearing that same sad-sweet smile and looking as if she didn’t deserve to take up his time.

“Excuse me, sir. I have some questions about the lecture. I tried to figure it out but I’m struggling…can you help me?”

“Of c, course,” Douglas stammered, waving her inside. "Are you majoring in history?"

"No, I just took the class to get to know more people. My other classes were pretty small.I’m sorry for coming after your office hours. I just realized that I didn’t have a clue what I was doing.”

Her green eyes took in his entire office, settling on his desk. “Where’s your ring?”

“Pardon?”

“You have a family picture, so…I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Don’t apologize for being curious,” he corrected. “Yes, I’m married but I feel that it puts a certain taint on me for the students. Like I’m too old to be taken seriously. I want to be relatable.”

“Oh, that makes sense. People do the whole labeling thing…when you’re different, they don’t think of you as a person.”

“Exactly. So what’s your question?”

She took a seat on the couch, biting her lip. “You were talking about human nature. Reverse psychology and how it worked in history. For certain deviations and reactions when the special formula was released to the public a century ago. Then banned. Um, how you look at what you’re not supposed to. Do things, want things that are bad for you, and then hate those very same things.”

“And? It seems like you understand the concept.”

“So, why do you want me? Is it because you sense that I’m bad for you?”

His heart stopped. She was never supposed to verbalize it, make it real.

“I have no idea what you are…”

“I’m not upset. I was just wondering why you like me. I’ve had men look at me like that. They all look at me like that. It’s scary sometimes. But none have really liked me-liked me.”

“Um,” he floundered. “Because you’re intelligent and beautiful. A very sophisticated girl. Who wouldn't like you."

“But you don’t even know who I am, professor.”

She didn't act like she knew herself.

“I’ve been around students long enough to-."

“Would you like to change that? Maybe try and get to know me? Then we’ll see what happens.”

Claire gazed up at him through her eyelashes, and he was shocked at the hungry, desperate look in her eyes. It made him feel undone. He wanted to run, to push her out the door with protests and denials (make her feel ashamed, wrong for what was going through her head), but instead, he sank down on the couch beside her.

“I’d like that.” He heard himself say. It’s scary sometimes…indeed. That look said ‘I’ll tear through all the world to get to you, and when I get you, I’m going to devour you.’

All mine.

Yet still, she was innocent, and as her lips (softly, timidly) met his, he was the one in control.

***

“I guess you’ll lecture me on how this is bad for my health.”

How many different personas did this girl have? Tonight, she wasn’t dressed demurely at all. She took him the highest place in the valley, on the ancient Hollywood sign that had been rebuilt several times. The light from her cigarette glowed softly on her face, her breath condensing in the frigid air, curling in with smoke.

Of course, she was trying to be edgy to impress him.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. We all have our vices, and that’s not the worst one to have. You never die of what you expect. So, enjoy every minute of life you can.”

“You are a wise man, professor, for someone who has not yet lived a single lifetime.”

“That quote is from Dracula,” Douglas answered. Yes, he was in touch with all aspects of history. Those stories, those movies, still scared the hell out of him. The concept of them did as well. For a moment of your life to be caught forever on a screen…

“Right,” Claire answered. “Share with me?” She offered him the cigarette and he indulged her, knowing that she would indulge him later. He tasted her, the essence of her, and he feels illicit. The only way to truly be alive in such an age of luxury and decadence was to risk losing it all.

“I wish I was as smart as you are. As original as you are,” she said. “I feel like I have so much I should say. So much I should know, some understanding. Meaning to it all. But there’s nothing. There's no understanding, no 'eureka' moment. I have nothing to give to anyone.”

“That’s impossible. We all have individual souls. We can all bring something unique to the table.”

“Not me,” she said. “I’m afraid I’m just a product of my environment. I’m afraid I can’t…relate anymore. That I’m not human anymore. Do you know that I’m realizing that I've never actually fallen in love?”

He’s a bit stung but he moves past it. He wasn’t in love with her, and he wouldn’t have wanted her to suffer an unrequited love (or so he told himself).

“That’s youth. Once you find that special person you can relate to, you’ll find that it’s like you were the living dead before. All these emotions you never thought yourself capable of having. It’s just a matter of time. You’re young, you’re only twenty-two.”

Even though she looked young for her age.

Her smile widened and she took back her cigarette. “Well, that’s a nice thing for you to say.”

“Trust me, it will happen for you. You’re a very special girl.”

“Tell me. What do I do about the want, then?”

“What do you want?” he asked, looking out at the distance.

“I want to take. I see people having things, doing things, expressing things…loving things. Normal things. I want what they have, just those small, real moments. When they lose it all, I don’t feel anything. Well, I do feel a sort of peace for a minute or two. Then it’s never enough.”

“You’re trying to be too perfect,” he said, hugging her, drawing her close. “Feeling bad for others…it’s something everyone is relieved for. It reassures us that we aren't monsters. But if you try too hard to analyze it…only truly good people worry about losing that ability.”

“I’m good because I think I’m bad?” she asked. Afraid, suddenly.

“Yes.”

“I like that idea,” she said, clutching at the back of his coat. Putting her face against his neck, trying to breathe him in. Hugging him so tightly as if afraid to let go.

He knew just what to say. “I’ll feel for you.”

Deep down, she loved to be loved. She just soaked it up, every crumb he gave her.

It was getting too real. He had made her want him more than life.

Now, he decided to back off.

***

Then things started to disappear.

Slowly, surely, inevitably. There was no proof, of course. It was like Casper was stealing from him.

The obviousness of it grew more aggressive, more urgent.

He felt her gaze burning into his back during the day.

And sometimes he would swear during the night.

***

When Douglas saw her framed in the window of his home, he couldn’t move. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, watching her watch him.

His wife didn’t see her, her back turned to the vengeful ghost outside. She was tending to their little girl.

He moved quickly and switched off the outside lights. “Sorry, I forgot. Don’t want to use up energy,” he told his wife and then grabbed the garbage bag to confront the girl.

She was perched on the edge of the balcony, swinging her legs back and forth.

“That’s very dangerous,” Douglas said angrily. "You'll get hurt."

"I will?" Claire teased.

"Yes," he said, trying to keep calm.

“What do you care?” Claire asked. “In fact, I think you want me to fall. I think you want to hurt me.”

“That’s ridiculously self-indulgent. You knew from the beginning that I was married.”

“Yeah. Nice family you’ve got there,” she commented. “No wonder you’re so wise. You realize how much you can lose in an instant.”

“Careful,” he warned her. “That can be construed as a threat.”

Her expression broke and she climbed down from the balcony. Children never know the extent of their cruelty. She was like a little Peter Pan of sorts, falling up and down from her own thoughts.

“That was a bitch thing of me to…damn,” Claire said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“I know. You do have a lot of growing up to do…Have you been in my house? In my car, my office?”

Because things were moved. Missing. Pictures, old mementos. His child’s picture album, from when she was just a baby…the baby shoes he had preserved in bronze. His shirts. His grandfather’s ring. He was angry at her. She had could use their initial relationship against him.

There was no chance he could go to the police to complain.

“Not your house. The other two…all right. Yeah. I couldn’t figure out another way to get your attention.”

“I want all my items returned to me.”

“Why don’t you come and get them? At my house,” she offered, putting her hands in her pockets. “…I just didn’t expect you to break it off so suddenly. I wanted you, not your stuff. I wanted some closure and you never had the decency to return my calls.”

“It’s not a matter of cowardice,” he lied. “I…all right. I’ll come and collect my things from you. Where do you live?”

She told him, smiling that sad-sweet smile. She was still hoping it would work out. She had another thing coming.

***

“I like your shirts the best,” Claire told him. “I can go to sleep at nights with you still holding me.”

It wasn’t necessary to make him aware of her preference of his shirts. She had come to the door wearing one. It was almost as shocking as the size of this house.

“I’ll let you keep that one. The rest, not a chance.”

“How generous of you, Doug,” Claire replied and paused. “Aren’t you coming in?”

“I…”

“Oh, please. I'm not going to bite you or anything," she said and grabbed his arm, dragging him inside. "Unless you want me to."

"No thanks," he muttered, awe-struck. The place was huge. The floors were polished marble title and the light fixtures seemed to made out of…good lord.

“Is that gold?”

“Uh-huh. I have a family member who can get his hands on the stuff. Isn’t it neat? It will last for ages.”

Excessive and indulgent. Sinful, even, he’d venture to say. He didn’t say.

“What does your family do?” he asked, keeping his voice neutral.

“Oh, that’s not important…don’t worry, Doug. I live alone.”

He breathed out a sigh of relief. “Make yourself comfortable,” she offered, motioning to the plush couch in the corner.

“This isn’t going to be a long visit,” he reminded her but sat down. She looked puzzled and sat down beside him.

“Don’t be mad at me. Please,” she said, biting the tip of her thumb nervously. “I do feel something for you. I’m really fond of you, actually. And I didn’t know how to express that well.”

“By taking things, apparently."

“I have to have something to remember you by…if you’re really serious about never seeing me again.”

“I’m afraid I am. I don’t know what to say. I’m too old for you, I’m committed to someone else. If I had met you earlier, things might be different.”

“I know. Can I get you something to drink? Red wine, white wine?”

“Um, just a glass of water. That would be enough.”

She smiled, grateful that she could give him something that he had wanted. Claire hurried off in the direction of the kitchen, and he listened to her bare feet pad across the title. When the sound of her light footsteps faded, he jumped to his feet. He would find his things himself and then leave.

Douglas crept up the stairs, hoping against hope that she had been telling the truth about living alone.

She had. Most of the rooms were either empty or notably unused. The beds were made, the room almost sterile in its impersonal touch. He could just tell the warmth of a human had never been in these guest rooms. It gave them this alien feeling, and damn it, he felt a bit sorry for her.

It was as if the house reflected what she had confided to him. No relatability…her heart was cold. This place was basically a mausoleum of vacant human existence. Ultimately, the things meant nothing without someone to share them with.

And she understood this too well.

He shook off the feeling and searched some more, coming across her room. It was hoarded with pictures. He noticed she had a lot of teddy bears and he frowned for no reason he could think of. Too sweet. Too innocent, too coddled. Besides, these were ancient and should have been thrown away a long time ago as they were rotting.

This was like an incubator for psychosis.

In the pictures, she was always with people. What had she done to drive them away, to live so alone?

By her bed, there was a pile of used cigarettes. Piles would be more accurate. Was that was this smell was, this undercurrent of decay hidden beneath layers of sweetness, of normalcy?

(Much too normal. Much too innocent.)

This semblance of a whole human being.

She had to be trying to kill herself by smoking that many--countless-cigarettes. Would she kill herself if he left without saying anything? Should he feel fucking guilty about that possibility?

He picked up a bear, again, having that warm sensation in his chest. Underneath the bear were the baby shoes. That cleared his anxiety and guilt right up.

He turned to escape when he heard something fall in the closet. A bang of something against the wall.

Douglas froze, clutching the shoes to his chest, and staring at the closed doors plastered with glittering posters of teenage bands. Not the normal hologram posters…not the normal…

It had to be his imagination. This place was like another planet, and he was spooked, unnerved and naturally…

The sound came from the closet again, and he felt his feet move in that direction. There was light pooling out from under the doors. He didn’t know why he opened it.

When the smell hit him, unfettered, he wished he hadn’t.

There was a thing tied to a chair. IV’s were everywhere, pouring and pumping a reddish liquid into this sack of wrinkles, this living skeleton. Blonde hairs littered the floor, were everywhere, were sparkling in the air. Eyes glittered under folds of skin, and its mouth opened.

“Kill…me. P, please.”

Douglas stumbled backwards, the shoes skittered out of his hand across the floor.

“What are you doing?! You’re scaring David!”

He looked up wildly to see Claire holding two glasses in her hands, her face livid. Her eyes, ice cubes in the expression of emotions boiling over. Correction…holding one glass. The other had broken in her right hand. She had crushed the glass, and there were shards stuck in her skin, and he expected her to scream in pain.

She stared down at him, seemingly appalled. “What’s the matter with you?!”

Claire went towards the thing called David, whispering comforting, warm platitudes. Eyes glittered, glittered impossibly, and Douglas got to his feet.

His legs felt like rubber but he managed his way to the door, down the hall. His shoe caught on the expensive antique rug, and he almost toppled down the stairs.

He maintained, god, he maintained his balance by the sheer grace of God, and he ran to the front door—

To see metal bars quickly fall in front of it.

“Please. Wait.”

It was such a sad sound.

Claire walked down the stairs slowly, her eyes red from crying, her hand red from old blood. It dripped on the banister and god, she didn’t notice. He couldn’t tear his eyes away.

“I’m sorry. I know I’ve done some things…that weren’t right. I’m sorry I…couldn’t let him go. I thought I loved him but I wasn’t sure. And if I did love him, how could I just let him…please understand.”

“How?” Douglas asked. “How is that ancient man still alive?”

“I can heal,” she answered, removing the last shard of glass from her hand. Before his eyes, her skin had knitted back together. “My ability keeps me young forever. I thought it would be the same for others, but it seems like I was gypted. My blood can keep them alive but they don’t stop aging.”

“…But…he wants to die.”

“I know. He wants to leave me. He did care about me once, you know. But love doesn't last that long. He hates me now."

He couldn't deny that. The man did hate her, he could feel it in the air. She slept in hate.

“I just keep putting it off. It’s like a bad exam or something. I’ll do it the next day, oh, wait, the next-next day…you know how it is.”

“I won’t tell anyone.”

“Douglas. I’m not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you,” Claire said, her eyes full of a deep sadness. “I’m just afraid. I don’t want to be alone anymore, I can’t stand it. I just wanted you to like me.”

“I do, I do,” he hastened to say.

“No you don't. I don’t blame you,” she said, pulling out the gun. He recognized it from the pictures. Old-fashioned. Still lethal. “I’ve done too much. I’ve gone too far. I never wanted to be a monster, believe me.”

“There’s still a chance.”

“Not with this ability. The more time you have on earth, the more chances there are for you to fall. Out of all of it, I just wanted to care for someone else. The good news is that I don’t love you,” she said, and he breathed out. “Today. But like you said, it does take time. I have to make sure.

You make me feel so much. You’re the only one who has treated me like a human being in a three decades, okay. I think you might be the one. I think I might need you. I can’t lose that. If I do…I don’t know what will happen to me.”

“You can’t force people to love you. That’s not what love is.”

Her eyes hardened. He couldn’t get a word out before the bullets went through his body, before his life was knocked out of him.

Temporarily.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Claire murmurred. “I would never let you die.”

Will never.

But he was right.

Some things you just can’t take.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of eternal life yet not-so-much eternal youth is from the myth of Aurora and Tithonus. She asked Zeus for eternal life for her love, and he gave the life part but didn't stop his aging.


End file.
